A/N

This was supposed to be a 5k crack!fic based on a really random idea. Things kind of... escalated. I've decided to divide the story into multiple parts, currently I have about 15k typed up. The first three parts should be published daily over the course of this weekend, I'll see about the rest.

The crack aspect comes into play in the second chapter and I basically attempted to write a serious Destiel AU on a truly ridiculous background. I honestly do not know if it's a successful endeavour.

Vanity Insanity

At 25, Dean Winchester is a pretty fine specimen of a guy, and he damn well knows it. Dirty blond hair that grows more and more into sandy brown every year, green eyes that should be illegal, and a pearly white smile that's just to die for- if he himself may say so, thank you very much- turn the heads of girls and guys alike, almost breaking their necks when they stare after him just a bit too long. Dean loves the attention and the swooning, being the natural flirt that he is. Life is easy as long as everyone loves you, according to Dean. And everyone loves you as long as you look good, which Dean does. A little vanity never really hurt anyone, did it?

Dean knows fully well that he tends to rely on his appearance and natural charms a little too much if he has no one to reign him in and keep him on the right side of the border between being a flirt and being a douchebag, and usually his little brother Sam, and Jo, one of the siblings' oldest friends since childhood days, do a decent job with that. But ever since the two 'kids' went off to college and travel the world outside of their little Kansas hometown Dean is all on his own with his flirtations and more often than not he scares girls (and maybe the occasional guy, shuddup) off with his comings-on as of late. It's time Sammy and Jo got their asses home for spring break, basically. Until then, Dean will continue as it is even if he risks the odd drink splashed at him by an outraged girl that just can't appreciate his frankly really very smooth advances.

It isn't often that he actively gives a thought to the matter of his dating experiences, or attempts at such, but he's bored and on his lunch-break and maybe kind of misses his little brother a bit too much after months of not seeing him. So he sits there in a little café on Main Street, enjoying a cup of black coffee and a delicious bagel, winking at the cute waitress whenever she steals a glance at him, and debating with himself whether or not she'd be offended if he outright asked her to get it on with him in a supply closet. A little voice inside his head that ridiculously resembles Jo's advises very strongly against that notion and Dean isn't really in the mood for anything this kinky anyway, hasn't been for years.

Maybe he's, like, growing up or some shit.

He gives a quiet snort at this particular thought and turns his attention away from the little waitress to the row of shops on the other side of the street. People-watching is relaxing and he still has roughly twenty minutes of break time left, so it's way too early to make his way back to Singer's Auto Reparation & Restoration, where he works alongside Bobby, and old friend of his and Sam's dad. The weather is slowly but surely getting warmer and people are more eager to leave their houses and offices around this time of the day to run errands, do their shopping, or simply take a stroll. Dean itches to maybe give Charlie a call and ask her over for a little chat but he guesses on a day like this it is likely she's at an impromptu LARPing session, meaning he won't reach the Queen of Moondor anyway.

Across the street, a man pushes little carts filled with books outside, placing them on either side of the entrance to his store where they'll be easily accessible and catch the eye of passers-by. His expression is earnest, as if the work requires utmost precision. It's the first time Dean notices the guy, which is odd seeing as he frequents the café across from his store several times a week, but he's never actually lost a thought to the little establishment. Now that he has the time he takes a bite off his bagel, washes it down with a sip of coffee, and leans back, reading the sign above the store's entrance. Divine Words. A bit pretentious for Dean's taste but okay. He doesn't know what appropriate names for bookstores are anyway, the only one he's even aware of is Barns & Noble and even that simply because his nerdy brother only ever wishes for gift cards from there since his thirteenth birthday. Dean is different. Books can't hold his interest for long, never have, even after Sam told him repeatedly that a little reading now and then couldn't possibly hurt.

Maybe he should pay the store across the street a visit someday to ease his boredom. And definitely because of the literature offered, not because of the guy who sells it. He looks uptight and unfriendly, Dean notices, wondering why in the hell he decided to work in an industry that required social interaction when he so obviously seems uncomfortable even from a distance. The guy's posture is stiff as he stands on the sidewalk, eying his work, but changes into something more relaxed when he runs a hand over the backs of the stacked books in the carts. Suddenly Dean understands. The guy isn't doing this for the people, he's doing it because he obviously enjoys handling the countless paperbacks and hardcovers. Dean makes a mental note to text Sam about the store, sure that someone with such a passion for books can't have passed under his brother's radar. It reminds him a bit of himself and his love for cars. He, too, could do without the nagging customers on most days. Except if they are really pretty.

Intrigued, Dean steals a glance at his watch. His break is almost over and he only walked to the café so it would probably be better to get his ass back to work- but before that he still wants to visit Divine Words. If only to convince himself that he still isn't interested. He drops a couple of bills on the table to cover for his lunch and makes his way across the street. When the guy sees him approaching as he looks up from his books he straightens himself, looking Dean up and down as if to try and guess what type of person he is. Dean doesn't really like being evaluated like that, it's different from being ogled appreciatively. Regardless, he puts on his effortless smile, ready to hit the guy with his unrivalled charm full force.

"Hello, welcome to Divine Words. May I offer my assistance?" The guy greets and Dean's smile almost falters because, fuck, he didn't expect that man to be quite so… handsome. Up close. His hair is a mess, but it somehow doesn't seem like one, his eyes are the most ridiculously flawless shade of blue, and his voice is just about low enough to be borderline X-rated. In short, Dean is suddenly very interested in, uh, books.

"Just came here to have a look," Dean says, smiling, as he trails the length of the mystery guy's body appreciatively with his eyes. The double-meaning of his words is so obvious, he's certain the other man must have noticed. Maybe it was a blunt move to make, but Dean is running out of time and he just wants to know if he can get a reaction out of the dude, see if he even bats for the same team, so to say. The very faint taint of a blush below the slight stubble of the guy's cheeks is indication enough.

Jackpot, Dean thinks smugly.

Before Dean can make another comment, the guy clears his throat and forces his expression back into a neutral one. "Very well," he says, "I will leave you to it then."

And wait a second that is so not how this was supposed to go, Dean thinks as he watches the dude turn on his heel and walk into the bookstore without so much as a glance back.

…

Originally, Dean planned on returning to the café the next day to watch the bookstore a little more but just before his lunch break starts a cherry red 1959 Cadillac is towed into the driveway and of course there is no way in hell he can leave a car like that in obvious distress. So he quickly abandons the thoughts of bagels and bookstores and jogs up to Bobby, who is manoeuvring the tow truck across the yard to the last free space in the garage. Within minutes the blindingly red car is placed on the hydraulic ramp especially designed for the bulkier vehicles of earlier decades. Singer's R&R specializes on the classics and business is going well considering most customers are going out of their way to have their beloved cars treated by two small-town mechanics instead of the hotshot braggarts from bigger cities that are closer. The Cadillac, for example, was flown in from friggin' California. It's, as the mechanic learns, the newest possession of a long-standing customer, whom Dean only knows by the name of Balthazar. The guy is practically hedonism incarnate, his entire life consisting of women, fast cars and expensive dining. He's a pretentious douche but Dean still finds it hard to truly dislike the guy, especially when he gets to work on such beautiful machines through a customer like him.

Speaking of work, Dean should probably stop staring adoringly at the car and start figuring out what's wrong with her, judging by Bobby's expectant expression. So he sighs, wipes his hands on the greasy rug hanging from one of his overall pockets and walks up to the vehicle to look at it up close. There's a few dents in the sides and the paint-job needs to be re-done completely but otherwise the machine looks to be in remarkable shape. Whoever was the previous owner obviously took good care of her, Dean thinks as he pats the rear fondly.

He revises his opinion once he gets a look at the engine. Or rather at the gaping emptiness where it's supposed to be. "Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, irritated. He thought this was going to be more of a beauty-job, so to say. Now he has to find an entire friggin' engine for a more than 50 year old car. It could take weeks, maybe months to find all the parts, especially if Balthazar insists on using authentic ones. Which, knowing him, he does.

Well, there's nothing Dean can do about it now except make a list of everything he'll need for Bobby to hopefully find and order, online or otherwise. Dean sighs and pats his numerous pockets for a pen and crumbled notepad before he starts scribbling down all the important parts he knows by heart. It may not be a '67 Chevy Impala like the one he himself owns but it all starts out with a good old V8 engine and Dean will see where he goes from there.

Once Dean's filled several wrinkly pages he goes to find Bobby in his office. A grumpy voice yells at him to come in even before he gets to knock and Dean pulls the door open to find his boss sitting behind a mountain of files stacked on the ancient desk. Bobby raises and eyebrow and Dean knows exactly what it means: Whaddaya want, boy?

Instead of an answer, Dean tosses the notepad on top of the pile. "Balthazar's gotta think he's our only customer," he mumbles, arms crossed, while Bobby flicks through the notes.

"I'll call Rufus. Old geezer might still got some spare parts left. We'll put the Cadillac in storage 'til we can start workin' on it." Dean shrugs a shoulder in agreement. Rufus is a hunting buddy of Bobby's who sometimes helps them out with all things rare but never without thoroughly complaining about it beforehand.

"Keep me updated," Dean requests before grabbing the keys for the tow truck off the hook next to the door to move the red muscle car into the warehouse behind the garage, slightly disappointed that he can't get started on the machine right away.

"Wipe that frown off yer face," Bobby scolds, recognizing the look on Dean's features for what it is. "Gotta finish on the Chevelle before startin' anything new."

Damn it, Dean forgot all about the cobalt blue Chevelle. He should have done a final check-up on the car after their paint-guy, Garth, finished the racing stripes on the bonnet two days ago. On the second try. Dean has no idea why Bobby keeps him on the payroll. "I'll be right on it after lunch," he promises.

"Idjit," Bobby grumbles just before the door falls shut.

…

Twenty minutes later, once the Cadillac is safely tucked away under a large cover, Dean walks down to the café on Main Street, stomach grumbling in anticipation. Yesterday's waitress recognizes him as he looks for a free spot and trips over her own feet when he winks at her. There's only one empty seat at a small round table left outside and it's less than perfect for watching the bookstore but Dean doesn't care. He's hungry and in serious need of some coffee. Thankfully, it doesn't take long for the waitress to appear at his table and he puts on his most charming smile before placing his order with her. She writes everything down dutifully but without looking at the paper in her hands.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Dean says, knowing fully well what he's doing to the girl- Jamie, her nametag reads. She blushes prettily and skips off with her blond ponytail swinging merrily from side to side.

As he waits for his food, Dean's thoughts involuntarily find their way to the guy in the bookstore. He remembers the fondness with which he handled the books in such a stark contrast to the almost hostile way he treated Dean. It was odd yet intriguing. On a whim the mechanic decides to text his brother.

To: Sam
2:25pm
Hey Sammy. You busy?

It takes a little while for his phone to buzz with an answering text but Dean doesn't mind. He just hopes he isn't distracting Sam too much even while he knows his class schedule and therefore that he isn't interrupting school. A moment later the entire table vibrates with Sam's reply which comes in two texts.

From: Sam
2:32pm
Nope. What's up?

2:32pm
stop calling me Sammy

To: Sam
2:33pm
Just on my lunch break. How's school, SAMMY?

From: Sam
2:35pm
you're such a jerk

2:35pm
School's fine, Jo's doing better than me

2:36pm
tell me what's up for real, we talked about school 2 days ago

Dean snorts at how well his little brother knows him and he's kind of relieved that Jamie arrives with his lunch right then, giving him another moment to think about his answer. The waitress's smile falters once she notices the mechanic's attention isn't on her and she quickly disappears again, effectively putting an end to Dean's stalling.

To: Sam
2:39pm
do you know an old book place on main st?

2:40pm
divine words or something

From: Sam
2:41pm
never heard of it

To: Sam
2:41pm
oh ok must be new then

Dean frowns at his phone screen. If Sam doesn't know the little shop it must mean that it only opened sometime after he and Jo left for college. That would explain why Dean never noticed it there before and now that he thinks about it he believes he faintly remembers a record store being in its place. Dean finishes the last bites of his bagel and grabs the napkin below the plate to wipe his fingers when his phone vibrates again only now the buzzing is accompanied by the first tunes of Back in Black.

Incoming call
Sam

Dean swipes his thumb over the green receiver and lifts the phone to his ear. "Couldn't stand not hearing my voice?"

Sam huffs and Dean swears there's some sort of eye-rolling going on. "No. I just want to know why you're randomly texting me about a bookstore in the middle of the day."

"C'mon, man. Am I not allowed to have a shallow conversation with my brother during my well-deserved lunch break? 'Sides. You're the one who kept sending me those weird pictures of animals wearing hats, how's that for random?"

His brother sighs heavily into the phone. "For the twentieth time, Dean, Jo had my- Wait. Don't change the subject!"

"Fine, alright," Dean gives in. A look at his watch reveals that he should probably head back to the garage and the Chevy Chevelle that's waiting so he drains the last of his coffee and fishes in his wallet for some dollar bills and a generous tip for Jamie who left her phone number on the receipt. He pockets the small slip of paper and pushes through the many tables until he's back on the sidewalk. Across the street a couple of people are lazily looking through the books outside Divine Words but there's no trace of the owner so Dean aims himself toward the garage and pretends not to swallow down a lump of quiet disappointment.

"Dean, what about the bookstore?" The voice startles him to a halt before he remembers he's supposed to be talking to Sam.

"Right, sorry," he laughs uncomfortably. "It's nothing. I don't know why I brought it up, I was just bored." There's no answer and he knows Sam doesn't buy the excuse and is just waiting for the real story. "I noticed it for the first time yesterday and went to have a quick look. Thought you might've noticed a place like this."

"And?" Sam pushes.

The mechanic groans. "And nothing. It belongs to a weird dude who dresses like a tax accountant, has blue friggin' eyes and is immune to my unrivalled charm."

Sam replies with a somewhat distressed, "Uh oh."

"What?"

"It's a challenge," Sam explains as if the situation is clear. "You did your flirty-thing out of habit, the guy ignored you, and now instead of moving on like anyone else would do you're suddenly desperate to get his attention. Plus, awkward with blue eyes is totally your type."

Dean gets ready to defend his honour by telling his stupid brother that he doesn't have a type and if he did it certainly wouldn't be that when a trench-coated figure emerges from the bookstore and yeah, okay, Sam is totally onto something. He raises a hand in a wave before his brain can catch up and tell him how stupid he's got to look. The bookstore's owner doesn't wave back, of course he doesn't, and just glowers darkly before turning his attention to a potential customer, undoubtedly muttering the same phrase as he did yesterday when talking to Dean.

"Ugh, the guy's such an ass," Dean informs his brother, ignoring the flaming heat of embarrassment on his cheeks.

"Sure, I mean you've met an entire day ago I'm sure you know everything about him," Sam mocks.

"You know what? I'm done with this conversation. The guy's obviously straight as a post or has no taste, either way I ain't wastin' my time on him." If the determination in his voice is more for himself than Sam no one has to know.

"Yeah, keep telling that to yourself."

"I'm serious, dude. A hot waitress gave me her number, maybe I'll give her a call later you don't know my life."

"Keep me updated on the bookstore guy."

"I'm hanging up now, I swear."

"Maybe he thinks you're an ass, too."

"Goodbye, Sam." Dean actually does end the call, mumbling "Bitch" under his breath. A moment later his phone vibrates just before he pushes it back into his pocket.

From: Sam
2:57pm
Jerk.

…

It isn't until Friday that Dean's resolve begins to crumble. Bobby told him to grab his shit and go home early and Dean just doesn't feel like spending the rest of a perfectly good day at home watching television. He can't pinpoint the exact moment he made the decision but soon enough he finds himself at the threshold of Divine Words. There's only one other person outside reading the blurb of a phantasy novel so Dean takes a deep breath and steps into the store. He doesn't know what he expected exactly but it certainly wasn't… this.

Inside the shop is a lot roomier than it seems from the outside which makes the fact that every single wall is plastered with bookshelves even more impressive. Additionally there's a couple of rows of solid wooden shelves put up to fill most of the room itself, the only exception being an area in the far left corner where two brown leather couches stand closely together. Dean won't admit it but he loves it. It's cozy and quiet, a tranquil oasis in the middle of the busiest street in town.

Slowly he begins to stroll around between the countless books curiously, not really reading the titles he isn't interested in but basking in the feeling of having this many stories around him. And the smell is something special, too. When they were younger, Dean made fun of Sam for being gross when his little brother would joyously inhale a whiff of the musty scent the old books in Bobby's office gave off but now that he's trying to give this whole store a chance he finds that he can appreciate it as well.

A voice from very close behind startles him out of his almost meditative state. "May I offer my assis- Oh, it's you again."

Dean jumps what feels like a foot in the air and spins around to find himself eye to eye with, well, very blue fucking eyes. He exhales shakily. "Dude, anyone ever tell you to get a bell?" The look he gets in return clearly asks which asylum he escaped from and Dean wants to explain what he meant by that when his brain suddenly catches up and he realizes that the guy recognized him.

"Are you looking for anything in particular that I can help you with?" The guy asks and Dean thankfully remembers to not let himself be completely overwhelmed by just how wrecked the man's voice sounds.

"I, uh, no," he says, only wincing slightly at how retarded he sounds.

The guy blinks and turns around, probably to make another customer jump by randomly appearing. And Dean cannot let him just walk away with this dull impression of the mechanic.

"Hey!" he calls out to hold the other man back just a moment longer. "I don't know a whole lot about books but I know someone who'd love this place and I wanna tell them about it. Can I get your name, for future reference?" That wasn't smooth, per se, but hopefully it'll work out anyway. Dean waits a painful couple of seconds while enduring a calculative blue-eyed stare.

"Castiel Novak." The man nods once before turning again and disappearing into his store.

Dean is still smug as hell- and a little surprised, if he's perfectly honest- that he actually got a response when he continues to browse through the store. As he's told the guy, Castiel, he's got no knowledge about books. Not beyond what he copied from that one kid in English class all the way back in high school. Pre-dropout, that is. So at first he thinks it's just his own ignorance that makes the place seem so out of this world. But the longer he wanders through the aisles and the further back he gets, the more distinct becomes the feeling of something profound being harboured here, and Dean's not talking knowledge.

Before he can ponder on the subject any further he gets distracted by Castiel again. The man acts perfectly oblivious to Dean, who is still the only customer inside the store, and it takes the mechanic a moment to realize that he's hidden behind a metric fuckton of books and it's probably impossible to spot him. However, his vantage point gives him the perfect view of the stupidly handsome dude in a suit. (Did that rhyme? Dean's pretty sure that just rhymed.)

Like the first time he finds it intriguing how gently the man handles the leather-bound books as he moves them from a cardboard box into the last empty spots three shelves over. Dean has yet to crack the coding of the labels on the shelves- and no, it's not alphabetical order, thanks. Castiel seems lost in his work, completely submerged in his passion and Dean is again reminded of himself and the sheer awe with which he's ogled Balthazar's Cadillac back at the garage. He kind of loses track of time for a little while as he just stands there and watches the other man do his thing until he snaps out of it. If he really wants Castiel to notice him then staring at him from a hiding place behind a bookshelf like a creeper probably isn't the way to do it. He's Dean Winchester, for crying out loud. All he has to do is smile at someone and they're at his mercy, romantically. So naturally he walks up to Castiel with what he's been told is his panty-dropping smile. A classic.

Honestly believing it will gain him some serious plus points, Dean strolls up to the store owner's side and grabs a book from the box in a wordless offering of help. He's not prepared for the reaction, namely a furious glare that threatens to smite him on the spot should he make as much as a single wrong movement. "Just what do you think you're doing?" Castiel hisses. What normal person freaking hisses?

Dean puts the book back and retreats a couple of small steps, the smile gone. "Whoa, sorry, buddy. I was just tryna' help."

Castiel frowns as he snatches up the book Dean put back and cradles it to his chest as if the mechanic defiled it with his filthy uneducated hands. The simple action stings more than he's willing to admit. "Did I seem in need of help to you?" Castiel asks as he shelves the book without looking back at the mechanic.

"No, but I just thought-"

He halfway expects the guy to swoosh around at lightning speed, pull out a blade from somewhere inside his too-big coat sleeve and hold it to Dean's throat. When instead Castiel turns his head slowly, deliberately, the movement is even scarier. Dean shivers. "You really do not know the slightest thing about literature, do you? About how rare these books are?"

"I- No." Dean's shoulders slump in defeat.

Castiel sighs and sends a look up as if asking God in Heaven for patience and strength just as one would before explaining to an overeager two-year-old why eating dirt may not be the best of ideas. He then pulls out the book he just placed on the shelf and takes a step toward Dean, showing him the item. It's a midnight blue hardcover with funky symbols on the front but there's no title. Amidst the intersecting circles are two letters, as Castiel points out by gently tapping them. "T.H." he says, "stands for Thomas Hardy. This is one of the only remaining copies of his story Jude the Obscure published in the late 1800s. It's worth approximately $650."

Dean feels his mouth open slightly in shock. Six-hundred-and-fifty bucks. For a book. Before he can properly voice his outrage at the preposterous pricing, Castiel grabs another book from the box, stacking in atop the blue one already in his hands. It's a yellowed paperback and looks like something Dean would find in one of the crates in the attic of his childhood home. "The Pea Pickers, by Eve Langley," Castiel explains. "A first edition from 1942. It took me years to find it."

Dean nods in what he hopes is an appropriate gesture of interest. He's not entirely sure if Castiel is a genius for harbouring all this information or if he's one cracked sonofabitch. The book-version of a crazy cat lady, so to say. As if to confirm this suspicion, Castiel continues to grab the last couple of books from the almost empty box, rattling off information on authors and historical timelines until he begins to stagger under the weight of what he's holding. He introduces the very last book from the box, a blush colored paperback from the 50s titled In Mortal Bondage.

Judging by the unimpressed look on Castiel's face, a cheekily muttered "Kinky" on Dean's part is not the right reaction and the mechanic quickly schools his features again before the little dude starts throwing punches. That would be a difficult thing to do, though, seeing as both his hands are occupied with holding literature. Castiel wobbles again, trying to keep his balance.

"Dude," Dean says, hands extended as if to aid but not daring to actually touch any of the items in the other man's arms. "Seriously, you sure you don't need any help?" He grins lopsidedly. "I washed my hands after lunch, I swear." He didn't but it's not like Castiel knows that. And 'lunch' was only a granola bar, so it's not like he got sugar or grease all over his hands.

Castiel seems to ponder on the offer for a long moment filled with sceptical silence but he ends up sighing. "Fine. If you would be so kind as to take some books off the top?"

Dean almost laughs at the overly polite phrasing but manages to bite his tongue as he gingerly lifts the topmost four books, leaving Castiel to hold five more. The other man then proceeds to push them into the shelf, blindly holding out his hand afterwards in a request for Dean to hand over his share one book after another. Once everything is carefully stored Castiel visibly relaxes. Dean stays by his side and pretends to feel the same sense of achievement.

"See? All better now," he offers, breaking the silence.

Immediately Castiel goes rigid again. "Yes. Thank you."

It is at this moment that Dean realizes he never introduced himself. He holds out his hand. "I'm Dean, by the way."

Castiel gives his hand that look again, the one that isn't entirely sure the mechanic's skin isn't crawling with all sorts of germs, before shaking it curtly. It's a good handshake, solid and warm, but Dean is starting to get pissed. He's been really fucking kind to the guy so far, right? So why is he being such a dick? Maybe he just doesn't get that Dean's trying his best to be flirtatious.

"Hey, uh, listen," he starts calmly, scraping all his 101 tricks together for one last attempt. "I'm off work for now and there's no one else in here. How 'bout the two of us go to grab a cup of coffee?"

Blue eyes go comically wide in response to that and Castiel bristles. "Excuse me?"

"You know? Coffee?" Dean actually adds a wink.

The other man tilts his head. "Either you are grossly propositioning me or actually offering to have a cup of coffee, which I do not drink. Whichever way it is, Dean, I am not interested."

"Not interested?" Dean repeats dumbly. "Oh, c'mon, you don't know what you're missing."

"Not much, I believe," Castiel says coolly as he eyes Dean up and down. The mechanic sputters.

"What? Dude, I just spent an hour listening to you ramble about books. Books! Don't you think I deserve some credit for that?"

Castiel gets that dangerous glint in his eyes again and Dean instinctively shrinks back from it. "You do realize this is a bookstore," he says. Dean wants to answer but Castiel just keeps talking. "Now, either you buy something or I'll have to ask you to leave. I do not depend on your money so desperately as to put up with another minute of your rudeness."

"Rudeness?" Dean realizes he keeps repeating things Castiel says in a louder voice but he doesn't care right now. "I'm sorry I thought you were up for some no-strings-attached fun, my bad. But lemme just tell you that a lot of people would be happy to trade places with you."

The door to the shop swings open with a creaking sound and Pamela Barns steps inside as if she's heard her cue from all the way across town. The woman totally has the hots for Dean. "Hey, Pam," he calls out to her. "You'd have coffee with me, right?"

Pamela takes off her sunglasses and ogles Dean shamelessly. "Oh of course, honey. But why not skip straight to the fun part?"

Next to him Castiel rolls his eyes dramatically and walks away. Just like the first time they talked.

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